Bug Eyed Peter Johnson is, well, depressed, and not just a little drunk....
What’s so damned precious about the dead? We got to dig them up, millions of years of them, and say sorry to them all?
Most of them should say sorry to us, the damned criminals, bringing us here to this.
Anyway and after all, they haven’t gone anywhere! Nowhere, except onto the universal damned pile of civilised bones that leads back to the biggest bloody mistake ever ever perpetrated.
They haven’t gone anywhere! There’s nowhere to go is there now? Nowhere.
The people who have gone are the archaeologists! The scientists have gone....investigating the whole useless mess.
The archaeologists are getting real close to discovering just what vengeful gene beat the sense out of our most distant, distant, distant ancestors, causing them, the idiots, to get up onto their feet, off of all fours, leaving them no bloody sense except beaten in bloody bloodthirsty nonsense.
So I guess we should all just pick up our picks spades and shovels and dig, dig dig dig right back to t=0 and put the fucking fire out! Right out! There and then! Out! Out! Out!
Now, that is what I'd call a real worthy obligation! Save us all a shitload of trouble.
Get to work you lazy sons! Get to it! GET DIGGING!
And don’t forget the bucket of water!
Bucket “Made in China” by my Chinese cousins! They got their part to play too, don’t you know?
....Douse the spark....
....Come on! Dig! DIG....
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